


It's Enough to Know

by reallooney



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Depressed Jaskier | Dandelion, Depression, Dermatillomania, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:09:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26338537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reallooney/pseuds/reallooney
Summary: Jaskier is feeling down, and tries to hide it from Geralt. He's bad at hiding it though, but Geralt is surprisingly good at comforting him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 20
Kudos: 244





	1. Chapter 1

When Jaskier felt it coming on, he did his best to ignore it. He was all too familiar with the dark, gloomy cloud which would hover over him from time to time, bringing with it exhaustion, and heartache, and sorrow. It would come on slowly, seeming at first to be merely the aftermath of a long day, or the feeling of frustration when things didn’t turn out quite right. Too quickly though, it would be covering him completely, too present to ignore or fight his way out of. Then all there was to do was submit to it, and try his best to keep his head above water until it passed and the sun began to shine again. 

This time he had tried to deny it, or explain it away. It wasn’t happening to him again, he was just worn out. At the time this had been a fair enough assessment. He’d been traveling with Geralt for almost a month now, and this required a lot of energy. It was perfectly reasonable for him to be getting burned out. By the time he realized and accepted what was happening, it was too late. 

Last time he’d been hit by a wave of depression like this they’d been close to town. When they’d stayed at an inn, Jaskier had made up a story about how he was going to part ways from the Witcher and go spend some time in his home town on the coast. That would have only been about a day’s journey from where they were; the story was believable. Geralt didn’t know that once he left to go pursue a contract, Jaskier had remained at the inn with the curtains drawn, huddled up under the bedcovers and trying his best to block out the world, unable to bring himself to leave his room. It was four days before he could force himself out of bed to make the journey back to his hometown where he stayed with friends for another month, trying to pull himself out of his depression. 

Now though, they weren’t in a town—they were out in the wilderness, days away from the nearest inn, so Jaskier was forced to try and hide the way he felt. Geralt had seen too many terrible things, and experienced too many tragedies; Jaskier couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes and explain that he was sad for no real reason, that he just felt this way, completely at the mercy of his own emotions even though nothing bad was happening. It would be an insult to the Witcher, who had been through so much. So he kept it to himself, trying to keep up appearances as best as he could. 

Anyway, it wasn’t like he’d never had to do this before. During his time at Oxenfurt, he’d made a reputation for himself as the life of the party. Nobody would ever suspect that loud, rambunctious, lively Jaskier, would sometimes have to lie to his professors, saying he was sick when in reality, he couldn’t manage to pull himself out of bed to go to class. 

As much as he wanted to hide it though, the longer they traveled the harder it became for Jaskier to keep his energy and morale up. All he wanted to do was curl up under a blanket and stay there until he didn’t feel so worn down, but that’s not how traveling with Geralt went. He spent hours a day walking beside Roach, which he normally didn’t mind, but the physical energy that required, plus the added pressure to make conversation and seem happy, made him feel like he was about to drop. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep going like this. 

***

Geralt was worried about Jaskier. He could tell the bard was tired, that was obvious enough, but as the days passed, he started to wonder if something else was going on. Their travels, which usually consisted of a lot of one sided conversations and music, provided by Jaskier, slowly dwindled until the pair were spending hours at a time in complete silence. Even at mealtimes, the two of them sat in silence, Jaskier picking at his food, hardly eating any of it. Not only that, Jaskier had stopped sleeping. He probably figured Geralt wouldn’t notice, but he could hear Jaskier’s irregular breathing, along with tossing and turning. Usually the bard was out cold until Geralt roused him in the morning, but now it seemed like every time he woke, Jaskier was awake too. When the sun rose, Geralt would see the dark circles under his eyes and the defeated expression on his face, and know that his friend hadn’t slept. 

It took him longer than he’d care to admit before he brought it up. Emotions weren’t Geralt’s forte, and he couldn’t for the life of him seem to figure out what was wrong. After about two days though, he couldn’t reasonably stay quiet anymore. Jaskier could be sick, or if he wasn’t he probably would be soon if he didn’t start eating more and sleeping better. 

He brought it up at dinner, hoping if he approached the issue with enough caution, the interaction might go well. 

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?” It wasn’t the most pointed question, but Geralt was still unsure how to handle this. He wanted Jaskier to know that he cared and he wanted him to be alright, but very little about him was naturally comforting. 

Jaskier looked up, seeming almost surprised. 

“Nothing’s wrong.” 

Geralt could’ve left it at that, but it was so obvious the bard was lying. 

“Jaskier, I know something’s up. Can we please talk about it?” He tried to reason with him, but Jaskier’s body language showed him this was a conversation he wasn’t interested in having. 

Jaskier crossed his arms over his chest, as if holding himself together, and he avoided eye contact, focusing on something up in the trees rather than looking Geralt in the eyes. 

“I’m tired. We’ve been going for awhile now. I’ll be fine though.” 

Geralt sighed. 

“You can talk to me Jaskier. I promise, I want to help. Tell me what to do.” 

His eyes finally flicked down to meet Geralt’s gaze. He looked afraid, and vulnerable in a way that Geralt had never seen before. So often Jaskier wore the mask of a performer, or a comedian, or a flirt. For a moment, Geralt wondered if he knew his friend at all. This was a side of him which was completely foreign. 

“I just—” he began hesitantly, breaking eye contact again as if he were ashamed. “I get unhappy sometimes. I don’t know why.” 

Geralt listened intently as Jaskier explained, wanting to know how he could help. 

“But it’s not a big deal,” Jaskier added hastily. “It just happens sometimes. It’ll pass. You don’t need to worry about it; there’s nothing really wrong.” 

It hurt to see his friend try to downplay his troubles like that, as if he was afraid Geralt would tease or judge him, or gods forbid, that he might be angry with Jaskier for telling the truth. 

“If you’re upset, then there’s something wrong,” Geralt replied. “Your feelings are valid. You’re allowed to be upset Jaskier. All I want is to know how to help.” 

Jaskier didn’t say anything. It was hard to tell in the dark, but Geralt swore there were tears welling in his eyes. 

“Please tell me how to help.” 

***

Telling Geralt felt like a weight was being lifted off of his shoulders. He no longer had to try and hide the way he felt—not that he had been doing a very good job of that before—but now that Geralt knew, he was faced with the issue he’d been trying to avoid. How could he explain to Geralt that there was nothing he could do to help? Jaskier knew it didn’t make sense, but this was just how he was going to be until it passed. There was no remedy to the way he felt; it was something he had to accept and deal with until it faded away as inexplicably as it had come. Jaskier had been dealing with depressive episodes like this since before he’d gone to university. They were something he’d come to accept. How could he make Geralt understand?

“Do we need to take a break? Do I need to find a healer?” Geralt suggested. 

The tears which had been welling in his eyes finally spilled over, running down his cheeks and dripping onto his shirt. He was so frustrated, and more than anything he was tired and lost, equally as clueless as Geralt was when it came to dealing with this. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted, putting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. The words were muffled, but he knew Geralt could hear. 

When he finally looked up, he was surprised to see Geralt had walked over to sit next to him. He was even more surprised when Geralt pulled him into an embrace. 

***

Geralt was not the type for physical affection—he never had been—but seeing Jaskier like that, so forlorn, he couldn’t help but want to wrap him up in his arms and protect him from whatever was hurting him. 

Jaskier buried his face in Geralt’s shoulder, but Geralt could tell by his irregular breathing that he was crying. He had one arm wrapped around the bard’s shoulders, holding him close. He ran his other hand up and down Jaskier’s back, doing his best to comfort him. 

“It’s alright Jaskier. Everything is going to be okay.” 

***

The Witcher was many things. Soothing was not one Jaskier had expected. Under his armor though, his big, heavily muscled body was surprisingly warm and comforting. Geralt held him close, and Jaskier had to admit, he felt incredibly safe in the Witcher’s arms.

“It’s alright Jaskier. Everything is going to be okay.” 

Jaskier wrapped his own arms around the Witcher’s broad chest, resting his head in the crook between Geralt’s shoulder and neck. 

After his initial reassurances, the two sat in silence for what felt like a long time. It helped. It didn’t erase the way he felt, but it was enough just knowing that Geralt knew, and he was there to comfort him and be with him while he went through this. It was good to know his friend cared about him, and he was here for him, and that he would still be there for him after this darkness passed.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt felt completely out of his element. He was familiar enough with sadness, but this. This was something different. It was almost like a physical illness, slowly draining all the life out of his friend. He wanted to help, but it was hard to figure out what Jaskier needed. He got the sense that even Jaskier didn’t know what would help. 

He figured getting out of the wilderness would be a good place to start though. The night after Jaskier had come out and told him about how he’d been feeling, Geralt decided the next step would be to get into town. This way he would at least be comfortable. 

Reaching the nearest town was no small feat. It took three full days, and with each day that passed Geralt worried Jaskier was going to fall ill. He was still barely eating or sleeping. Geralt tried to convince him to ride Roach—he just looked so tired—but he insisted he was fine walking. Geralt didn’t want to push him, so he let him go on walking. Still, he felt like an absolute ass, riding while Jaskier walked, even though this had been the arrangement for as long as they’d been traveling together. 

They arrived at the inn late on the third night, and Jaskier immediately collapsed into the bed. Geralt was glad to see he was asleep as he went over and pulled the bard’s shoes off and draped the blankets over him. Hopefully all the walking had tired him out enough to let him sleep soundly through the night. 

***

Sure enough, when Geralt woke the next morning Jaskier was still fast asleep under the covers next to him. He got up quietly, being careful not to wake him. He figured he would go into town and see if they had any contracts he could fill. Hopefully, they could stay here and Jaskier could rest for a few days. Maybe that would be enough to get him his energy back and help him feel better. The more he thought about it, the more Geralt was struck with just how unequipped he was for this situation. He kicked himself for it, for not being able to help his friend as well as he’d like. 

***

There was a contract. It didn’t take much investigation to find out about the kikimore which had been terrorizing locals trying to travel through the nearby swamp. He accepted the task, returning to the room to prepare his things for the hopefully short hunt. He didn’t expect it to take more than a few hours, but he always wanted to be prepared. 

He’d planned on talking to Jaskier before he left to see if the bard needed anything, but he was still sleeping when Geralt returned. He debated whether or not to wake him, eventually deciding to leave some food for him on the table, so he wouldn’t have to leave the room before Geralt got back if he didn’t want to. 

Anyway, Geralt would be back in the afternoon. Jaskier could manage just fine without him for a few hours.

***

Geralt returned a few hours later, just as he’d said he would, uninjured and quite a few coins richer. As he’d suspected, the job hadn’t been difficult. He could use a bath, but other than that he was unscathed. He ignored the stares of the locals in the inn as he climbed the stairs to his and Jaskier’s room, eager to check up on his friend. 

He walked in to find Jaskier still curled up under the covers. Surely he couldn’t still be sleeping—it was mid-afternoon. No, Jaskier was awake laying under a pile of blankets, his hair a messy halo around his head, looking comfortable but still worn out. The food he’d left on the table was untouched. 

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” Geralt asked. As soon as he said it, he realized it was a stupid question. Still a part of him worried this exhaustion was the result of some sort of physical illness. Those, he knew how to deal with. He laid a gentle hand on Jaskier’s forehead, trying to feel if he was running a fever, but his temperature felt normal. 

“Yeah,” Jaskier responded. “I’m sorry, I meant to…” he trailed off, seeming to be unsure himself of what he had meant to do. 

“No, don’t be sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” Geralt fumbled, trying to find the right words. “I just wanted to know if you needed anything.” 

“I’m okay,” Jaskier mumbled unconvincingly. 

No he wasn’t. He clearly wasn’t. Somehow though, Geralt figured pointing this out wouldn’t be helpful at the moment. They both knew. 

“Have you had anything to eat today?” Geralt asked, knowing the answer, but wanting to start the conversation anyway.

Jaskier shook his head, pushing himself upright so he was level with Geralt who was sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Well we can start there,” Geralt said with a small smile, trying to give off an aura of cheerfulness. This was usually Jaskier’s job, but he figured filling his own role as the sulky one would be supremely unhelpful in this moment. 

He brought over some bread and cheese, leaving the chicken which had been sitting out for several hours. Getting sick from old food, surely would not brighten Jaskier’s mood. 

Much to his relief, Jaskier ate all of what Geralt brought over, but as he did Geralt couldn’t help but notice the bard’s fingers. The nails were torn down to the quick and the skin around them was picked raw and bleeding in some places. He waited until Jaskier was finished before he commented, not wanting to discourage him from eating. Once he was done though, Geralt took Jaskier’s hand in his, examining the fingers more closely. 

“What happened?”

“I really don’t know Geralt,” Jaskier replied, looking apologetic and discouraged. “It helps, I guess. I don’t know. I’m sorry” 

Fear turned in the pit of Geralt’s stomach. The thought of Jaskier here all alone, hurting himself—whether intentionally or unintentionally—while he was gone, made him feel sick. He didn’t let these feelings show, wanting to put on a strong face for Jaskier. 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he assured Jaskier. “Can I bandage them?” He wanted to get them covered, not so much because he was afraid of infection, but because he didn’t want Jaskier making them worse. 

Jaskier nodded, showing Geralt the other hand which was in similar shape. Geralt retrieved his medical supplies. 

The two sat in silence as Geralt cleaned the little wounds, paying special attention to each finger, wrapping them up with the smallest bandages he could find, covering the tip of each finger. 

He’d thought a few days at the inn would be enough to get Jaskier back on his feet, but today showed him he was so much more clueless about this issue than he’d thought. He needed to find another approach, because this clearly wasn’t going to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd originally meant for this to just be the one chapter, but idk, it pulled me back in. Felt like there was more to say.


	3. Chapter 3

The cottage was small, but cozy. Geralt felt bad, once again relocating Jaskier, but he felt this was a place which they could stay for awhile—as long as it took to help Jaskier feel better. 

It was a little hunting cabin in the woods next to a stream. It belonged to a family which Geralt had befriended several years earlier. They’d assured him he was welcome to stay there whenever he was in the area. He wasn’t usually one to accept offers like this, but it was near, and convenient, and he thought it would be a better environment than a cramped room at an inn in the middle of a busy town. 

When he proposed this idea to Jaskier he agreed quickly, with no enthusiasm. At least this time he agreed to go on Roach rather than on foot for the afternoon long journey back into the woods, to their little refuge in the forest. 

***

Initially it seemed to be working. The first few days, it looked like Jaskier was getting better, not back to his normal, chatty, bubbly self, but not hiding under his bed covers all day either. The two stayed in separate rooms, so Geralt wasn’t sure if he was sleeping any better, but he emerged every morning and shared a meal with Geralt, and then spent the day reading, or writing, or sitting out by the river. He was definitely still a very subdued version of himself, but he wasn’t the version Geralt had seen at the inn either. 

It wasn’t until the fourth day that Geralt realized just how naive he still was about the whole situation. 

It happened in the mid afternoon. Geralt was laying outside in the grass by the river, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight on his skin, listening to Jaskier play the lute a few feet away. He began to doze off, the music soothing and the air the perfect temperature, when he heard Jaskier swear and the music stop. He opened his eyes to find Jaskier sitting cross legged, his hands balled into fists. He relaxed as soon as Geralt met his eyes, but it was with a sense of exhaustion and defeat, rather than any sort of relief. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.” 

***

Jaskier was beyond frustrated. Geralt was being incredibly kind, much kinder than he deserved, but still Jaskier felt trapped. He tried to push these feelings down, to ignore them, but after a few days at the cottage he just couldn’t take it any longer. 

He was playing his lute, or trying to—his fingers were raw, red, and irritated, some of the scabs threatening to open up and start bleeding again. Each note hurt. All he wanted to do was play his lute, but even that he had seemed to take from himself—ruining things, how typical. 

He pressed on. A couple of wrong notes later and he was ready to smash his lute against the ground. He could do this. Why was it so difficult for him to do this? He set the lute down to keep himself from harming it, instead balling his hands into the tightest fists he could manage, ignoring the throbbing, stinging pain which blossomed in his fingertips. 

“Fuck.” 

Geralt looked up at him from where he laid in the sun a few feet away. 

As soon as Geralt met his eyes, he unclenched his hands, trying his best to hide his feelings from the Witcher, just as he had been doing for days. In that moment it all came crashing down on him. He was exhausted trying to pretend to be alright. It was just making things worse. He forced himself not to break eye contact with Geralt. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, being honest for the first time in days. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Geralt sat up so he could be level with Jaskier. 

“What do you mean?” 

Jaskier motioned to the yard around them. “This. Pretending I feel alright, that this is enough to fix things.” 

“I’m sorry. I thought this would help, but if—”

“No.” Jaskier closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself before speaking again. “I’m frustrated because this should be enough. You’re doing everything right and I still feel like shit.” 

“Whatever you need Jaskier, I’m here,” Geralt tried to reassure him.   
“That’s the problem,” Jaskier replied. “You’re here, watching, waiting for things to go back to normal. And I just feel this pressure to act like it’s working because it should be working. I owe it to you to make it work.” 

“You don’t owe me anything.” Geralt looked confused, but well meaning. 

“I do. You put your life on hold for me. I should be getting better, but I’m not.” 

“We have time,” Geralt said, meeting Jaskier’s frustrated tone with a calm and measured one. 

“That’s what I’m afraid of. That you’re just going to be here hovering for weeks, waiting for things to go back to normal. I feel so much pressure to act the right way when you’re around. And you’re always around.” 

“There’s no right way to be,” Geralt argued. 

“But there is!” Jaskier insisted. He was practically shouting at this point. He was breathing too fast, and he was all too aware of his heartbeat thumping in his chest. “If there wasn’t, we wouldn’t be here!” 

He buried his face in his hands, pressing his palms up against his eyes and resisting the urge to pull out his hair in his frustration. He felt Geralt’s hand on his shoulder, but instead of accepting the gentle gesture, he cringed away from it. He didn’t want to imagine the hurt expression on Geralt’s face. 

“Please. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier looked up from his hands, tears stinging his eyes again. The words escaped his mouth without permission, but once he said them he knew he couldn’t take them back.

“I want you to go.”


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier felt sick. He hated the way he’d talked to the Witcher, but he had to admit, sitting by the river by himself, he felt more at ease than he had in days. He felt so obligated to at least put on a show of trying to feel better when Geralt was around. Geralt deserved better than this, but for Jaskier the work was exhausting. He’d go to bed at night and it would be the first time he was alone all day. Then he would just stare at the ceiling, numb, until he went to sleep—or didn’t. Then he would get out of bed to eat whatever breakfast Geralt had so graciously made before doing it all over again. Now he was free to wallow in his feelings without fear of insulting Geralt and all the work he was doing to help him, even if it wasn’t working. And wallow he did. 

He thought about going down and laying in the stream bed. It was shallow, at least the part nearest to where he was, and he figured he could lay down in it without the water running into his mouth and nose. It would feel nice, the cool water running over him, the gravity holding him fast against the rocks while the water moved around him. He could look up at the clouds and the tops of the trees. Then he considered walking back into the house in sopping wet clothes, and the thought of how the cold, wet, fabric sticking to his skin—even just for a few minutes—was enough to deter him from climbing down into the water. 

Maybe he should go after Geralt. After he’d told him to go, he’d buried his face in his hands again, ashamed of what he’d done, but not willing to take it back. When he lifted his head a few minutes later, Geralt was gone. Jaskier could at least check to see if he’d gone into the cottage. However bad he felt though, didn’t undo the feelings which had led him to tell Geralt off. He should have phrased it differently, of course, but that didn’t change his desires. He still wanted more than anything to be alone. More than he wanted his friend to be happy? He pushed that thought from his mind. He would apologize to Geralt, just not right now. Right now he needed to be by himself and try to untangle all the twisted up thoughts in his brain. 

He didn’t notice he’d been picking at his fingers until he realized the pad of his thumb was slick with blood. He looked down to find the skin on the first two fingers on his left hand were raw and bleeding again. Fuck. He didn’t realize that it hurt until he looked down. He tried to rub the blood off, but that just succeeded in smearing it over his hand. He stopped himself before he did any more damage, going down to the stream. He didn’t lay down in it like he’d wanted to before, but he did sit right on the edge and put his hands into the water. It was cool, and felt nice on his stinging fingers. He tried not to think about how nice it had felt when Geralt had bandaged them on the first day he’d started picking at them again. The Witcher had even used some of his salve, which was really meant for much bigger, more serious injuries. It had felt amazing.

He sat there for a few minutes, washing the blood from his hands, making sure to get all of it out from under his fingernails and out of the creases on his palms. He tried to keep his mind blank, but it was hard. He was about to get up and go back inside to lay down for a little bit, maybe take a nap, when something caught his eye. It was a rock, green and perfectly smooth. It was beautiful. He reached out and grabbed it. He couldn’t help but think about how long it had probably been sitting at this riverbed. Years? Decades? Centuries? Only to be snatched up by him now. What right did he have to take this rock away from where it had sat for maybe longer than Jaskier had been alive? He should put it back. He didn’t though, slipping it into his pocket. What did it matter? He already knew he was selfish. 

***

Geralt trudged through the woods, not really sure what his goal was. Maybe he should go back to the house and get his knife so he could get some meat for his and Jaskier’s dinner tonight. Or maybe just his dinner. He didn’t turn around, worried about crossing paths with the bard. He didn’t want to disrespect his wishes, even if he didn’t understand them. 

As he walked he tried to clear his mind, but he couldn’t get the image of Jaskier out of his mind, sitting on the grass, telling him to go. He could tell from the bard’s expression that it had hurt him to say that, probably more than it hurt Geralt to hear it. But that didn’t stop it from hurting. He thought he’d been doing things right, taking care of Jaskier when he wasn’t able to take care of himself so well. He thought his actions were helping, it stung to know he had been hindering Jaskier’s progress this whole time. Even Jaskier said he was doing everything right though. What did that mean? How could he be doing everything right and still making things worse? He couldn’t wrap his head around it. 

He hated the thought of leaving Jaskier by himself, remembering the day back at the inn when he’d returned to find his friend had hurt himself in his absence. Even if it was just his fingers, the thought that he’d been in enough pain emotionally to inflict it upon himself physically was hard to face. As much as he wanted to watch over Jaskier and make sure he was alright, the bard had made it clear that he didn’t want that. 

Rationally, he knew Jaskier’s desire for him to leave wasn’t personal. Still, it was hard not to take it that way. There was nothing he could do about it right now though, so the Witcher, like he’d done so many times before, pushed down his emotions and walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two Minutes. The Amazing Devil.


	5. Chapter 5

It was midmorning when Jaskier woke. He hadn’t slept well. It had taken him a long while to fall asleep, and even once he had he woke often. He tossed and turned, gradually tangling himself up in his blankets. It was far too hot, and he had way too much on his mind. 

When he finally did wake up after his few fitful hours of sleep, he had no motivation to get out of bed. He absentmindedly wished it wasn’t summer. The room was still too warm, but he didn’t want to get up to go outside where he might be spared from his sweaty fate by some shade, or a cool breeze. And anyways, he felt safe under the blanket. 

He stayed like this for a while, half dozing on and off for an hour or maybe two; it was hard to gauge how much time was passing. 

When he finally did get out of bed in the early afternoon, the cottage was empty. Geralt was nowhere to be found, but he’d left out some food for Jaskier, along with the little container of salve. Jaskier couldn’t believe how generous he was being after the way Jaskier had treated him the previous afternoon. It was so much more than he deserved. He debated whether or not to use the salve—after all, his own injuries were nothing compared to what Geralt experienced on a regular basis—but again, he knew he was selfish. He applied the salve, feeling relieved as the pain in his fingers eased, but guilty that he was taking advantage of his friend. He’d tricked Geralt into thinking he was a good person, and now he was reaping the rewards as his friend bent over backwards to help a person who didn’t even have the decency to spend time with him. This was all too much, he couldn’t bear to stand here and look at Geralt’s generosity, the food and the salve staring back at him as if they knew his secret. He couldn’t take it anymore. He made up his mind to return to bed. There at least he didn’t have to face his problems, but still, he couldn't escape the feeling that he was letting Geralt down. 

***

Geralt felt like he was living in a house with a ghost. He knew Jaskier was there, but they never crossed paths directly. He saw the signs of him, the little bits of food missing, the slightly moved furniture. Sometimes Geralt heard his footsteps in the middle of the night, but over the course of the next few days after Jaskier had told him to go, he didn’t speak with his friend once. He missed Jaskier, but he was determined to respect his wishes.

The two of them fell into a strange routine. Geralt would rise early and leave the cottage, ceding it to Jaskier, and by the time he returned in the evening, Jaskier was often in bed again, or out by the river. Geralt was tempted on several occasions to sit with him outside, but still he kept his distance. When Jaskier wanted to mend things, he would approach him. Until then, Geralt would leave him be. 

In his quest to give Jaskier his space, Geralt spent most of the day out in the forest. There was no Witchering to be done around here, but there were plenty of herbs to gather. He’d be able to replenish his store of potions pretty well while they stayed out here. This also gave him time to do repairs on his weapons and armor, but still the days were long, and there were only so many repairs he could do, and potions he could make. 

By the third day, he’d nearly run out of things to do. That was when he decided he needed a new project. It would take some work, but all he’d be able to get all the things he needed from either the woods or the hunting cottage. 

He didn’t waste any time in starting his project, hoping it would be enough to keep him out of Jaskier’s way, and to keep Jaskier off his mind. He couldn’t wait until he could see his friend again. 

***

It was the middle of the night and Jaskier couldn’t sleep. He’d spent several hours tossing and turning before giving up and deciding to get up and wander the house for a while. He didn’t think much about his intentions, but after a few minutes he found himself at Geralt’s door. 

The Witcher was surely sleeping, and he’d been the one to push him away in the first place, but Jaskier had to admit he was getting lonely. Especially now, in the dark, standing out in the hall with his bare feet cold against the floor. He wanted company. 

After a few minutes of rigorous internal debate, he knocked on the door. He took a couple seconds, but Geralt answered. 

“Come in,” he called from the other side of the door. 

Jaskier walked in hesitantly, not really sure what to expect. Would Geralt be angry with him? He had every right to be. He pushed his worries aside and approached the Witcher. 

“What’s going on Jaskier,” Geralt asked, his voice thick with sleep. “Is everything alright?” 

Jaskier had to stop and think for a moment. What was going on? 

“I guess I just didn’t want to be alone right now,” he responded. “I hope that’s okay.” 

“Of course that’s okay,” Geralt said, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes. “Do you want to come sit?” 

Jaskier nodded. 

Geralt moved over, making room for Jaskier on the bed. 

Jaskier climbed into bed next to him. It would have been awkward, he thought, if it had been anyone else but Geralt. He let his head rest on the Witcher’s shoulder. But this wasn’t anyone else, and even without any sort of conversation or reassurances, the presence of his friend helped. At least for the moment, he felt comforted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at this point i have no idea where this story is going. cest la vie ig


	6. Chapter 6

Geralt thought maybe after Jaskier had approached him the night before, things might go back to how they'd been before. No such luck. They’d sat together in the dark for a while. Geralt had been careful to let Jaskier set the tone and create the boundaries for himself, afraid of making his friend uncomfortable. After a couple minutes of sitting in silence though, Jaskier curled up, leaning into the Witcher’s side. Geralt put his arm around the bard as Jaskier laid his head on his shoulder. 

Jaskier slept for the rest of the night in bed next to Geralt, remaining fast asleep even after the Witcher woke. He considered staying in bed with Jaskier for a little more of the morning, but when the time came that Geralt usually got up, he left, draping the blankets over his bard and giving him his space.

After eating a small breakfast and setting out some food for Jaskier, he headed out into the woods, ready to start his new project. He’d tried to start yesterday, but he wanted only the best for Jaskier. The best hadn’t crossed his path yesterday.

He walked through the woods completely silent in the way only a Witcher could. After a little while trekking through the trees, he found it. It was gorgeous, deep brown and sleek. He could almost feel how soft its pelt would be as he watched it hopping across the dirt. Geralt would never take a life without cause. This would provide good meat though, and the pelt was beautiful. It was perfect. He pulled his knife, knowing it would find its target with ease. The rabbit would be dead before it even knew to feel any pain. 

***

Jaskier woke to an empty bed. The mattress next to him was cold; he wondered how long Geralt had been gone. He stayed in bed for a little while longer, wishing absentmindedly that Geralt was still there with him, warm and sturdy, anchoring him to the world. If he had that though, he’d have to apologize, and explain how even though sometimes, like now, he’d like to have him around, there would still be other times he needed to be alone. He wasn’t sure how to explain it to him, and he knew he couldn’t go through what he’d done on the riverside again. It hurt him to tell Geralt off like he had, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it if he did it again. So for now he would just have to stick with being by himself. It was alright though, it was better if Geralt didn’t see him like this anyway. 

He put off getting up for as long as he could, but after an hour or two, his hunger got the better of him and he dragged himself out of bed. Like always, Geralt had left breakfast out for him. He ate, trying to push down the guilt he always felt at his friend’s generosity. Once he finished, he was met with the same question which faced him every day. What do I have the energy to do? What can I fill the hours with which won’t make me feel worse? Often the answer to that was bed, but for the first time in a while he felt rested. He’d slept well at Geralt’s side; the pull of fatigue was absent at least for now. It would no doubt return soon, but for now he wanted something to occupy his mind. 

There were a few books in the house, but nothing which interested him; he’d checked them all out before. He had no desire to play his lute or write music, unwilling to face his own personal criticisms, but still he wanted to do something. He needed a new project, something to occupy his mind. Something for Geralt, to show him how grateful he was to be taken care of in these terrible times. 

***

Geralt got to work skinning the rabbit. By this point in his life, the movements were like second nature. He forced himself to pay special attention though, not wanting to damage the pelt. He made a fire and began to cook the meat over a fire as he scraped the pelt clean. Once it was sufficiently clean, he submerged in the solution of water and salt he’d prepared. He hadn’t worked with pelts in a long time—he hadn’t had much need to—but he’d not forgotten the steps. It was a useful skill and he was glad he knew it; he only hoped Jaskier would like what he was making for him. 

***

It took Jaskier quite a while to figure out what he wanted to do. He didn’t have much to work with, mostly just what he’d brought with him. He dumped the contents of his bag out onto his bed, looking them over and trying to come up with something good. After some careful deliberation, he decided paper and ink were his best options. He tore pages from his notebook—he wasn’t writing any songs nowadays anyway—and arranged them in a stack. He then set out tearing them into neat little squares. He’d make a book. He didn’t have any leather to bind it; he’d have to use cloth. There was an old shirt in his bag with a big stain on the back and a tear. He’d been telling himself for months he was going to get it cleaned and repaired, but he knew it was doubtful he’d ever get around to it. There was still good cloth on the sleeves though. It would work well. 

He spent the afternoon arranging the pages and carefully using a needle and thread to bind them together. His fingers were still sore, and working with the tiny needle and thread wasn’t easy, but it helped to have something to focus on. After a few hours he had a neat little book about the size of his palm bound in the beautiful deep blue fabric of his ruined shirt. 

Now all he needed to do was fill it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> rip to the rabbit. gone but never forgotten


	7. Chapter 7

As the days passed, Jaskier let his project fill his waking hours, glad to have something to be working towards. A purpose, however small, could work wonders. He and Geralt still shared their strange routine of existing around each other, hardly interacting, but Jaskier spent more and more nights in the Witcher’s bed, nestled against his chest, protected from the loneliness of the dark hours. He found that while during the day, having company felt uncomfortable, as if he was being watched or evaluated, at night it helped. He slept better in Geralt’s bed than he did in his own. 

He wasn’t sure where Geralt disappeared to during the day, but for the time being this arrangement was comfortable—for him at least. He hoped Geralt knew he wanted to spend time with him, but was truly unable to. He didn’t want his friend to feel like he didn’t care about him anymore. He hoped his project would help with this. 

He spent hours at a time sitting at the table in the main room of the cottage, filling out his little blue book. At first he hadn’t been sure what to write, but since he so often found himself wishing to be back when times were better, he decided to fill his notebook with those memories. 

Slowly but surely he filled it with drawings, stories, poems, and ramblings about all of his adventures with Geralt. And slowly but surely, he began to feel better. The mixture of having something to focus on, the excitement about having something to give to Geralt, and the reminder of all of their good times, was really starting to turn his mood around. It didn’t happen all at once, but as the days went by he truly started to feel better. 

By the time the little book was full, he almost felt back to normal. The combination of having something else to focus on, getting his mind off of his troubles, and time, had done wonders. 

The day when he finally filled the last page of the book was a rainy one—the first really rainy day since they’d been here. It forced Geralt inside, and although he and Jaskier were in much closer proximity than usual, for the first time in a long time he didn’t feel uncomfortable. In fact it felt nice to have another presence in the house. 

He spent most of the morning at the table in the small kitchen, but once he finished filling the book, he went over and sat down next to Geralt in front of the huge fire he’d coaxed from the long abandoned hearth. 

“Hey,” Geralt smiled when Jaskier entered.

“Hello Geralt,” Jaskier said sheepishly. “I was wondering if we could talk for a little while.” 

“Of course.” Geralt looked surprised, but pleasantly so. 

Jaskier was silent for the next few moments, trying to figure out what he was going to say. When he finally began it was with a low voice, and he didn’t meet Geralt’s eye. 

“I know these past few weeks haven’t been easy, for either of us, but I just wanted to say thank you for staying here with me. Even when I wasn’t very good company.” 

Geralt listened intently, his expression soft and his eyes kind. 

“I wish I could tell you why I get like this sometimes, and I wish I could tell you it won’t happen again, but I can’t,” he continued. “But I can tell you that having you here with me has made it so much easier. It’s remarkable. Really.” 

Geralt gave him another small smile. 

“And it isn’t much,” Jaskier said, pulling out the little book from where it had been tucked in his pocket, “but I made you something.” 

He handed it to Geralt, suddenly afraid the Witcher wouldn’t like it. 

“It’s to help remember the good times,” he explained. “When maybe things aren’t going so well.” 

Geralt’s eyes lit up as he flipped through the pages, looking at all the little drawings and writings and poems Jaskier had left there. He handled each page with care as he took in all that Jaskier had written in there for him. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt said looking up at him. “This is incredible. Thank you.” 

He sounded so sincere, Jaskier was afraid he might start crying. 

He didn’t have the chance though, because Geralt was talking again. 

“Makes me feel kind of bad about the present I made you. It’s not nearly as nice.” 

He pulled out a pair of gloves from his pocket. 

“They’re to protect your hands in the winter,” he said, no doubt remembering the terrible state of Jaskier’s hands from when he’d been picking at them so relentlessly. 

“No, Geralt, these are perfect. Thank you so much.” He finally met the Witcher’s eyes. 

Only for a moment though, because then he was pulling on the gloves. They were incredibly soft and, even though Geralt had no measurements, fit him perfectly. 

“Thank you,” he repeated. 

“If you ever need anything,” Geralt said. “I don’t want you to be afraid to tell me. Even if the thing you need is for me to go away. I want to help you Jaskier.” 

The tears were unavoidable now, but he didn’t mind so much. They were tears of comfort and relief, not sadness. He let himself nestle into Geralt’s side, and the Witcher put an arm around him. 

“I know,” he said. “You’ve been incredible throughout all of this. I’m sorry I’ve been so distant.” 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Jaskier,” Geralt assured him. 

“I’ve missed you.” 

Geralt pulled him in closer. 

“I’ve missed you too.” 

Everything wasn’t quite back to the way it had been before, but Jaskier felt better. He felt relieved to know that he’d always have Geralt there to support him, and he felt happy to finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

Things weren’t perfect, but Geralt was here with him. They’d be able to face anything that happened together. 

And in the end, that really was the most important thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To anyone who's been waiting for this last chapter since October, I am SO SORRY.   
> I couldn't figure out how I wanted to end it, but if you're reading this thank you so so so much for sticking around. It means the world to me.


End file.
